


bury my love in the moondust

by allbridgesburn



Series: never break the chain [1]
Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: 2x10 AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, Lack of Communication, Nick Gets His Shit Together, Pain and Suffering - Freeform, but only for a moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 23:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allbridgesburn/pseuds/allbridgesburn
Summary: There was no going back for them. Only the road ahead.[2x10 AU] [spoilers]





	bury my love in the moondust

Remember your training, Pryce used to say. Keep your mind focused. There’s only you and the job that needs to be done, for the greater good. Sometimes you will have to make tough decisions. But you must trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.

Nick remembers, clearly. The path is straight in his mind, alright.

He pulls the trigger.

 

-

 

The guard drops to the floor and the Martha screams and jumps in Hannah’s direction. Nick levels his gun at her. She stops in her tracks.

“You can either come with us, or stay with him,” he motions at the black-clad body on the ground. The Martha presses her hands to her mouth, tries to stop her frightened sobs. Finally, she nods, her eyes on Hannah, who is clinging to June’s skirts, their arms around each other.

“I’m not leaving her,” the woman says. Loyalty. The holiest currency in Gilead.

Nick grabs the dead man’s gun, the ammo. Rummages through his pockets and takes his keys. A map. Crushes his radio under his shoe.

June looks at him wide-eyed, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks. But for the split second when he holds her gaze, he doesn’t see fear there. Instead, there’s that determination he’s been missing, a defiance glimmering behind her eyes. She nods her head, briefly.

“Let’s go.”

 

-

 

They have four hours to the border, give or take. Two checkpoints on the way, maybe more. Guard patrols. Waterford, sending a search party. Then, if they make it, _when_ they make it, the herculean task of actually crossing the border. Where’s your God, Pryce, when you actually need him?

Nick turns off the GPS. The paper map will have to do.

 

-

 

When he lies in the hospital bed, later, hand-cuffed and in a world of pain, he’ll remember the drive. The car swerving across the icy roads, and June telling him to go faster still. Fire lighting up her blue eyes, her hair free from the white cap, her daughter pressed to her side. There was a wild energy coiling in the car between them. Determination, excitement, hope. Adrenaline coursing through his veins like fire, making his hands shake on the steering wheel. Knowing there was no going back for them. Only the road ahead.

“Faster,” June said, and Nick obeyed her, like he always had.

 

-

 

Nearing the checkpoint, Nick’s job is clear in his mind. His path straight. He will get June and her children to safety. They are his greater good, his purpose. You can do terrible things for the greater good – that’s probably in the Bible. Isn’t that what Gilead is all about?

Even in the stolen car, there is no good reason for Nick to be in these parts. He doesn’t have a pass, and the Eye privileges don’t extend that far. He could try, but they would still insist to see if there’s anyone else in the back. He can’t risk anyone seeing June.

He takes a deep breath. Grabs his gun from the passenger seat.

There are three guards. He takes two of them out with a clear shot to the head. It’s nothing, it’s like shooting practice, but he misses the third guard. The man shoots back at him, yelling something into his headpiece, and Nick can’t let him do that, not now, not after everything, and he lunges after him, fires blindly. A bullet grazes Nick’s arm. Petals of red splatter his sleeve.

He bashes the guard’s head into the pavement, rips the wire out of his ear. He doesn’t know how much he managed to say, how soon the reinforcements will come. Too soon. They don’t have time.

He goes back to the car. His hands are shaking. His gloves leave red marks on the steering wheel.

“Nick, Nick, are you okay?” It’s June, her voice distant, like coming from underwater.

Nick drives.

 

-

 

Hearing June’s gasp of pain nearly makes Nick drive into the trees; he manages to stay on the road, barely, the brakes making a sickening sound. “God no, not now,” June chokes out.

The hot surge of panic nearly blinds him. “June, what’s happening?” She’s pressing her hands to her stomach, taking slow, measured breaths. Something’s wrong, terribly wrong.

“I think my water just broke,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Fuck,” he says. He clenches and unclenches his fingers on the steering wheel. He wants to scream.

June presses her lips to Hannah’s forehead. The little girl seems frozen in panic. “I’ll be fine. Just give me some space here, sweetie.” The Martha gathers Hannah to her, stroking her hair gently. June looks at Nick. “I can make it. I’ll be fine. Just get us out of here, Nick.”

There’s nothing he can do, except drive.

 

-

 

It’s too calm, he thinks. Too bright. The temperature grows colder as they head north, the roads more difficult. He forces himself to slow down, even with June’s moans filling his ears as she rides through another contraction. Isn’t it his fucking curse, he thinks, always standing by, doing nothing. Letting things happen to him, to them. Never changing anything.

The second checkpoint appears on the horizon. They’re so close to the border, it must be more heavily guarded. There is no time for hesitation, no time for mistakes. He rolls up the partition and picks up his gun.

He’s barely aware of the bullet that pierces his side. He manages to shoot his attacker before the pain hits him, a tidal wave of agony that consumes his whole body. Nothing exists but the white hot pain. Pulsing. Getting stronger. Swallowing him whole.

 _Get up, get up, get up_ , he chants in his mind but his body won’t obey, sliding to the snow in a pool of red. He breathes, he has to get up, he has to get them out. He spits out blood, the metallic taste making him want to retch. He crawls to the car. There. One more step. Drive.

He drives over the man running towards them. He imagines the bones crunching under the wheels, but there is no sound, just the dull thrumming in his ears. His hands don’t seem to cooperate. He tries to clench them on the wheel, to keep himself upright but it feels like they don’t belong to his body anymore. His vision swims. There are black dots in front of his eyes, appearing and disappearing along with the trees by the sides of the road. His hands are sliding from the wheel. There’s so much blood.

He pulls over.

 

-

 

“Tell me you know how to drive,” he rasps out at the Martha, when she gets out of the car. She looks at him like he’s a ghost. He leans his weight against the door, trying to stay upright by sheer force of will.

“I did.”

She helps him into the passenger seat and takes off her veil; folds the fabric up and presses it into his wound. He has no energy left to scream.

“Press here,” she tells him, moving his own hand so it would hold the fabric. “You’ve lost so much blood, God–”

He shakes his head, stopping her mid-sentence. It doesn’t matter. “Just drive. Fast.”

June bangs on the partition. Nick doesn’t let it down. She can’t see him like this. He can’t worry June.

He forces out the directions, tells the Martha when to get off the road. Every word he says is a stab of pain and his mouth feels like an alien thing, un-cooperative, blood bubbling on his lips. He swallows. There must be fire in his lungs.

 

-

 

“Hey,” the Martha touches his shoulder, tries to shake him. He thinks days must have passed. Years. Where is June? He thinks he can hear sirens in the distance.  

“Don’t fall asleep,” the woman says with urgency. “Don’t close your eyes.”

Nick shakes violently, but forces himself to keep his eyes open. The road ahead is white against the darkness of the falling night. He presses the blood-soaked fabric to his side, in the other hand he clutches his gun. Hold on. Protect them. Not long now.

 

-

 

“Promise you’ll get them to safety,” he thinks he says to the Martha. He wants to say it, but his lips don’t seem to obey him anymore. Her face swims before his eyes.

“I can promise to try.”

Did she say that? Can he believe her?

Don’t trust anyone except yourself.

Fuck you, Pryce.

Fuck your God, too.

 

-

 

“Help! Somebody help us, please!” The Martha screams through the open window, and there are lights and voices around them, emerging from the darkness. “We need a doctor!”

Someone shoves the door open and drags him out. The gun falls from his frozen hand.

They lay him down. A stretcher. There’s more screams.

June. He sees her, red dress on the white snow. Blood, on the snow, around her feet. Her face, a mask of terror, and still she reaches out to him, calling his name. Or he imagines all of that. He wishes she would.

They lead her to the ambulance. The Martha holds Hannah. They’re both alive. Good.

He’s so cold.

It starts to snow.

Nick finally lets himself close his eyes.

 

-

 

He is alive. The realization stems from the constant, distant pain that engulfs his whole body. It creeps and recedes in turns, along with the appearances from the nurses who dose him with anesthetics. He loses the sense of time. He wakes up to the pain that makes him scream and then goes under again, to the blissful nothingness.

In the brief moments he’s awake, he begs. “Please tell me - how is she? Is she okay? June. The handmaid. Please, tell me if she’s okay please–”.

No one speaks. They watch him carefully, with distrust, and he understands – he is what he is. He’s done terrible things. He stood by, when he should have acted. He deserves to be handcuffed to a bed, like a criminal, because he is one.

Still, he yearns.

The doctor tells him about his injuries. He barely hears her. Two surgeries. Shattered ribs. Kidney. Almost didn’t make it. He’s looking at weeks, probably months of physical therapy. He’s lucky to be alive. (He doesn’t really feel like it.)

The doctor turns to leave. Nick’s eyes start to sting; he pleads. “Please. Tell me if she’s okay. That’s all I need. Please.”

The woman’s face softens, slightly. She clears her throat. “Ms. Osborne is doing fine. It was a close call, but she’s slowly recovering. She’s a strong woman.”

Nick tries to take a deep breath. His lungs don’t seem to be working. “And the baby? Is she okay?”

The doctor’s eyes flash with surprise. She hesitates, but then after looking back at his face she makes up her mind. “She’s a healthy girl, yes.”

Nick presses his free hand to his face, and cries.

 

-

 

“We’re really sorry for this,” the nurse says sheepishly, when she finally uncuffs him. “We didn’t know who you were, and we couldn’t take the risk, in case you were–”

“It’s fine,” he says. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Toronto General, sir. You were moved here, when they realized you needed specialist care.”

“All of us?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Nick stares at the raw, red line encircling his wrist where the handcuff has been. “Would it be possible for me to see Ms. Osborne? She’s my friend and I’d like to see how she’s doing.”

The nurse stiffens. “Oh, I don’t think you’re in a state to–”

“Please.” He wonders if the longing shows on his face.

She sighs. “I’ll ask.”

 

-

 

June seems tiny in the hospital bed. She’s pale and there is something distant in her eyes, even though she smiles when she sees him. She’s holding a small bundle in her arms and Nick has to remind himself to breathe.

They help him into the chair by her bed. Inside the bundle there is a tiny face and tiny little hands with tiny little fingers and tiny little nails. There is a shadow of dark hair on the baby’s head. It looks soft as feathers.

“I named her Holly, after my mother,” June says, and Nick thinks it’s perfect, she’s perfect. He never thought he could love someone this much, the way he already loves this tiny person. The feeling hits him suddenly, spreads all over his body. He can’t stop looking at the baby. His daughter. Holly.

“Nick.” June touches his hand and their eyes finally meet. Again, the notion that something is wrong nudges at his brain, but he can’t figure out why. He chases it away. They are safe, and alive, and free. He wants to kiss her. He wants to hold his daughter. He wants so much.

“Thank you, for everything you’ve done,” she says, tightening her fingers around his hand. “For getting us to safety and– when we got out of the car and I saw you all bloodied and still–” her voice breaks for a moment, “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you before.” A tear falls down her cheek. He moves to brush it away but the pain in his side stops him; he sucks in a breath.

“It’s okay,” he says hurriedly, “I’m fine.”

She nods. The baby in her arms starts fussing. He watches in awe as she rocks the baby, whispers sweetly into her ear. Kisses the little red forehead, until the baby falls asleep again.

“I would let you hold her but –” She gestures awkwardly at his bandaged side. He forces his face to produce something resembling a reassuring smile. He probably fails.

“It’s okay,” he says again. Her lips start to tremble.

There are so many things he would like to say to her. But he doesn’t know how.

The door opens. June’s husband walks in, with Hannah and another woman, who must be June’s Moira.  Luke’s mouth is stretched in a huge smile, eyes shining with unshed tears as he strides towards Nick. He leans down and wraps him in hug so tight, Nick’s healing ribs protest with violent stabs of pain. He grits his teeth. Above Luke’s shoulder he can see Hannah, her eyes wide with fear as she looks at him.

“Nick, Nick, my good man,” Luke says, his voice rough with emotion, “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for my girls.” He keeps hugging Nick and Nick keeps taking shallow, painful breaths, and forces himself not to pass out. “Thank you, thank you for bringing them home– ”

“Luke,” June says sharply, “you’re hurting him.”

He lets go immediately, looks down at Nick in embarrassment. Wipes the tears from his cheeks.

“There’s nothing to thank for,” Nick forces out. He looks back at June and Holly, who starts fussing again. June doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I owe you my life,” Luke says seriously and he looks like he means it, too. There’s real gratitude and happiness written all over his face and the sight of it breaks something inside of Nick. “If you need anything, ever, just let me know. I’m your man.”

Luke looks lovingly at his wife, and hugs Hannah to him. The very picture of a happy family. Healing. Growing back together. The way it was always supposed to be.

He knows, instantly, that this is it. He has been allowed something good, at the end of the world, but now it’s over and the world is still spinning and he has to move on. Let her go. Let _them_ go. They deserve better than Nick.

Moira watches Nick closely, her face unreadable. Looks back at June.

He says his goodbyes, and leaves.

 

-

 

The Bankoles leave the hospital a week later.

Nick isn’t there to watch them go.

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I'm sorry  
> 2) There's a sequel in the works and I can promise it's gonna be less painful


End file.
